Old Habits
by fieldagent85
Summary: Jack and Irina contemplate the fate of their relationship after their little tryst in Panama. Spoilers up to 2.17.


He hardly knows where he is anymore. Emotionally, he's gone. Spiritually, he's never existed. Literally and physically, he's with her, in this room, in this bed. He is right where he was over twenty years ago. She has him, just as she always had. There's never been any escape. Nothing has changed. Jack Bristow, taken hostage again by the prisoner.

She knows it, too. She knew it then, she knows it now. But she has a difficult time acting genuine around those she loves, even if she is. Even the few truths that pass through her lips have a way of sounding inherently insincere. When she smiles at him, it is sly and cunning, devoid of certainty and love, though she feels it. Irina Derevko, taken hostage again by herself.

"What?" He asks her quietly, his curiosity piqued by the devilishness of the smile.

She raises her eyebrows, her smile turning into a smirk. "I win."

"How do you figure?" He asks the question, not particularly concerned with what it is she has won, only how she has won it.

"When you met me..." She pauses, losing for a brief moment all traces of her smile. "Again..." With force, the smile returns. "You hated me, Jack. You hated me before you more than you hated me while I was gone. You'd have shot me if it weren't for that which divided us."

"Yes." He wasn't about to deny it. He was a fine liar, but not as fine as she.

"You wouldn't have trusted me with your dog let alone Arvin Sloane. With or without a tracking device."

"So, you've won my trust," Jack concedes.

"To win your trust, Jack, is to win you."

He smirks in a way that is more skeptical than cunning. "I'm the prize?"

"Don't sound so shocked."

"I'm not shocked." He is shocked, truthfully. She has always shocked him.

Irina rolls her eyes. He's lying. He is not at all as good at deception in his personal endeavors as he is in his professional ones. She kisses him, grateful for the challenge he has always presented her with. Neither one of them was ever all that easy. She crawls out of bed and travels into the bathroom. He watches her for a moment, then follows. By the time he reaches the bathroom, she is already in the shower. He briefly considers joining her, but remember that he is not quite as nimble as he once was, when last they knew one another. He shaves instead.

Jack reignites the conversation. "You were right before."

"Naturally," Irina responds, above the sound of water. "Right about what?"

"Trust. You're right, a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have trusted you with this razor let alone a machine gun."

She chuckles. "You're shaving right now?"

"You'll thank me in the morning."

"You always did shave at the oddest times," Irina comments nostalgically. "Four in the morning, two in the afternoon, after dinner occasionally..."

"Yes, well, old habits die hard, I guess. And it's relaxing, strangely enough."

"The only man I know comforted by the use of sharp objects."

He scoffs at her. "I'm sure you've met worse in your travels."

"I think you exaggerate the extent of my travels, Jack."

He puts the razor down. "Do I?"

"I doubt I've traveled much more than you have," Irina says, and the meaning of the conversation has moved on to bigger and better things.

"How do you know how much I've traveled?" Jack counters.

"Just a hunch."

"I've traveled plenty." He is defensive now. She can't possibly think him so unworldly, in that sense.

"Well, then, so have I." The water stops. "Hand me a towel, will you?"

He reluctantly grabs a towel from the rack and puts it in the grasp of the hand sticking out from behind the shower curtain. She emerges seconds later, covered by the towel, and brushes past him on her way into the bedroom. Again, he follows her.

"Do you think we should tell Sydney?" Jack questions.

Irina regards him quizzically as she slips on her nightgown. "And tell her what? Mommy and Daddy spent a night making mad, passionate love in Panama after Daddy sliced open Mommy's shoulder to remove her tracking device?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." He shrugs.

"There's nothing to tell, Jack," Irina says, almost sadly. "Tomorrow, everything goes back to the way it was. There'll be glass between us, not sheets."

"If you pull off this thing with Sloane, with any luck they'll consider..."

"Stop dreaming, Jack. Just weeks ago your government was prepared to put me to death. I don't think they're gonna do me favors. They're not going to forget I'm one of the bad guys just because I helped you capture another one."

Sighing, he sits down on the edge of the bed and drops his head into his hands. "I know."

Irina smiles, embracing the sense of tragedy and sits down beside him. "Someday they'll write plays about us. Good, patriot American boy meets manipulative Russian terrorist girl. A tale of deception and espionage."

Jack looks up slyly. "A comedy."

She laughs. "A comedy, yes. It'll be a big hit. We'll be immortalized."

"Well, in that case, I fear for the future of American theatre." They lock eyes, the conversation once again masked in tragedy. "I forget who I am when I'm with you."

She blinks back the few tears that threaten her calm, steel exterior. "I remember who I am when I'm with you."

He covers her hands with his and kisses her forehead. "This is the life we chose."

In the morning, everything and nothing would change forever.


End file.
